Hate This Place
by trinsy
Summary: The last meeting of the Black brothers.


**Hate This Place**

He never liked the family tree.

Regulus had, of course. Regulus had liked everything about their family. He can still remember Regulus staring up at the tapestry in a pathetic sort of awe, his eyes sliding from name to name, always somehow missing the burn marks that represented the disowned and ostracised. He can still see the pale lips on his brother's thin face silently forming the words _Toujours Pur_.

But that was a very long time ago, when they would occupy the same room for hours at a time without a glare or an insult, even occasionally speaking.

"What does _Toujours Pur_ mean?" Regulus would ask, and Sirius would answer, "Always pure," with a bitter note always imbedded somewhere in the syllables. But Regulus would look even more awed, and run his finger over the golden threads that formed his own name, imagining, Sirius presumed, the generations that would follow and look at this bit of embroidery for inspiration.

He wonders if his brother still looks at the tapestry that way, or if he even looks at it at all. Perhaps he'll find out tonight.

Or perhaps he'll be murdered.

That's the risk of going back to 12 Grimmauld Place, of course. He might be walking into a circle of Death Eaters or –– worse, he thinks with an ironic smile –– his mother might not really be out. But he can't seriously believe Regulus would ambush him.

He can't say why he trusts his brother, really. Maybe it's because he can't imagine Regulus having enough nerve to kill a person; or maybe (more likely, though he'll never admit it to himself) it's because of that undefined, unspoken, unacknowledged connection they've always shared. Maybe it's because Regulus never tried to change Sirius's loyalties in front of their parents. At night, in the safety of the upstairs corridor, he might whisper a rebuke, but never at the dinner table when he knew what it would cost Sirius to have his rebellion mentioned. Regulus could have made Sirius's life hell at home … but he hadn't. Maybe that's why Sirius agreed to meet his brother tonight.

He hasn't told anyone of this meeting. Stupid, maybe, but he knows his friends' reactions, and he doesn't think he could stand witnessing them.

Peter would look positively alarmed, and start shaking his head before Sirius had got past the preliminaries, and say that this was all out of the question and Sirius should never have even considered it.

James would be more understanding. James approves of second chances. But he would also suggest that Sirius bring along backup, and Sirius would catch that spark of fear that more and more often jumps to life in the back of James's eyes, the one that they share and that they both pretend doesn't exist.

Then there would be Remus. Remus would hear Sirius out, all the while giving him that sceptical look Sirius knows far too well. And when Sirius concluded, Remus would snort and look a little pitying and gently admonish him for being so stupid. And this gentle superciliousness would rile Sirius beyond anything else, and the conversation would probably escalate into another of the arguments they've been so prone to falling into recently.

But he didn't tell Remus he would be coming here. Remus is one of the reasons he's agreed to meet with Regulus in the first place. Perhaps tonight –– for better or worse –– perhaps he'll learn the truth.

He's arrived at the house now. It looks just the same, just another in the long row of dingy buildings. He raises his fist to knock, but before his knuckle meets the wood, the door jerks open a few feet.

"Inside, quick," hisses Regulus, and Sirius steps sideways through the narrow opening, which Regulus immediately closes with a heavy thud before turning to face his brother.

Sirius stares into the pale, narrow face that so resembles his own, and thinks that if he weren't so well acquainted with the basic features, he would not recognise his brother at all. The haughty expression that adorned the handsome features for so long has disappeared, replaced with a weary discontent that Sirius recognises because he sees it in the mirror so often. The arrogant demeanour has given way to a wary alertness. And in the depths of the grey eyes –– yes, there it is –– that ember of fear he keeps seeing (and ignoring) in James's eyes and in his own.

"Hello, Reg," he says quietly, and the dying flame suddenly flares up as Regulus's eyes widen at the old nickname. But next instant it's died, and Sirius wonders if maybe he just imagined it after all.

"Shall we go up to the drawing room, then?" says Regulus, already making his way toward the stairs. Sirius follows without protest.

They enter the drawing room, unchanged since he last saw it, except that the tapestry has gained a new burn mark he doesn't have to look at to know exists. Regulus sits down. He doesn't invite Sirius to do the same, but Sirius knows this isn't a purposeful snub; Regulus, it seems, doesn't remember that this is no longer Sirius's home. Sirius seats himself opposite his brother, and Regulus instantly leaps to his feet. It's coming, Sirius can feel it, the confession he doesn't need to hear.

Why did he invite him? Regulus's mind races as he paces before his brother, the handsomer version of his own face turned up to him with a mild, detached curiosity. Is there fear anywhere in those features, the tiniest particle unwittingly revealed in the depths of the eyes or the turn of the mouth? But no, what's the use of even looking? This is Sirius, after all. Sirius, brave and reckless and free of the fear that's consumed Regulus since he first felt the mark seer his skin.

Sirius's eyes follow Regulus's journey across the faded carpet impassively. Why did he invite him? Why does he feel such an insistent need to reveal this secret to the brother who never showed the slightest sign of caring what became of him?

He comes to an abrupt halt before Sirius, whose already expressionless face somehow becomes even more closed.

"Sirius," Regulus says quietly, "I'm a Death Eater."

Sirius doesn't answer. He just looks at Regulus with that knowing expression Regulus hates so much, the one that tells Regulus there's very little –– maybe nothing –– about him that Sirius doesn't know or guess.

"I joined up two years ago," he continues, when it becomes obvious that Sirius isn't going to respond verbally.

There's a pause while they look at each other, and Regulus can almost see Sirius working out the calculation in his mind. He knows immediately when Sirius arrives at the answer, for his eyes suddenly blaze with such ferocity that Regulus unconsciously steps backward, bracing himself for the explosion. Sirius, however, seems lost for words. He simply stares at Regulus with an inexpressible fury, and Regulus, who expected much worse, takes a deep, calming ––

"YOU WERE SIXTEEN!" Sirius roars, so loudly and abruptly that Regulus jumps backward several feet and nearly falls over. "SIXTEEN, REG! YOU WERE STILL AT SCHOOL!"

Sirius is on his feet, and Regulus has never seen him so enraged. His normally haughty, handsome face is so twisted in fury he's barely recognisable.

"I knew he was a maniac, but how could he let –– how could _you_ –– SIXTEEN!" Sirius bellows, and Regulus actually trips as he backs further away.

"You were sixteen when you ran away!" snaps Regulus. He has no idea why he said it, but Sirius freezes, eyes wide.

"So freedom and murder are the same now, are they?" he enquires, very quietly.

"I didn't know that's what it meant." Regulus's volume matches Sirius's.

"Yeah, I'm sure all those murders and disappearances made it really difficult to guess what you might be asked to do," says Sirius sarcastically, his voice rising again. "I suppose you thought it'd just be hosting common room tea parties for pureblood pride."

"I didn't!" snarls Regulus.

"You disgust me," says Sirius, and he sounds it. "A schoolboy signing up to murder. I hope you're proud."

"I didn't know!" Regulus shouts the words, frustration bubbling inside him as he fruitlessly wills Sirius to understand.

"I'm sure that's a great comfort to the people you killed," says Sirius coldly, turning away. He doesn't even know why he's so angry. What was he expecting? To find out that Regulus hadn't joined up after all? To learn that he's actually a spy? Does he really think that good and evil aren't clearly defined, that there isn't an overt divide between he and his brother?

"Sirius, if there was a way –– if I could make it up ––"

"Yeah, well there isn't!" snaps Sirius, whirling to face his brother again. "Go to the families of the people you murdered and tell them you're really sorry! Tell them there was nothing in your 'job description' about killing the people they loved! I'm sure you'll all feel better!"

"No, Sirius, you don't get it ––"

"_I_ don't get it? When _I'm_ the one out there risking my life to try to save the people _you're_ killing! When I've already watched people I know die at the hands of your mates!" Sirius's voice cracks. Pictures are flickering in his mind, rapidly, blurring into a mass of colour: Peter cowering at the Order meetings; Lily crying for Gideon and Fabian; the fear in James's eyes that scares Sirius more than anything else in the world; and Remus looking at him with both pity and detachment as the doubts creep further and further into Sirius's mind, doubts that won't be assuaged, not this way, not how he thought (hoped?) they would ––

"But, Sirius, there's a way, I know a way ––!"

"You can't make it up, Reg," says Sirius harshly. "Not unless you can bring them back."

"Of course I can't!" snaps Regulus. "I meant ––"

"Go off and regret your ignorance, then," says Sirius coldly. "A lot of good it'll do you."

"Would you shut up and listen to me!"

"No!" Sirius's expression has become very hard, almost brittle. "I've finished listening to you, all of you!" He flings his arm out wildly, gesturing to the room –– the house –– at large. "I haven't had to listen to you for four years, and I'm not about to start up again!"

Regulus opens his mouth to retort –– how, he doesn't know –– but he catches sight of Sirius's burn mark on the tapestry, and he closes his lips very abruptly. He understands that mark (or thinks he does) better than Sirius would ever believe: No _Toujours Pur_ for Sirius Black. Things weren't meant to be so clearly divided. It's the belief Regulus has always admired about Sirius.

"Fine," he says quietly. "Then there's nothing left to say."

"Nothing at all," agrees Sirius.

"I won't be seeing you again."

"No." Sirius's tone is indifferent. "You won't." He turns to leave.

Panic rises in Regulus's chest. He's never going to see his brother again, the brother who is so much handsomer and braver and wiser; the brother he wishes he could emulate; the brother who will never know why Regulus won't come home tonight.

"Sirius!" It slips out before he realises he's speaking.

Sirius turns slowly, eyebrows raised.

"Did you want to hug, Reg?" he asks sarcastically, and Regulus winces.

"No, but –– well, you didn't say goodbye." He feels stupid the moment he says it. Sirius's expression is unreadable.

"Goodbye then," he says apathetically, shrugging.

"Goodbye. And, Sirius!" he adds quickly, as Sirius turns away again.

"What now?" snaps Sirius, but he doesn't turn around.

"I am sorry."

Sirius doesn't answer, just opens the door and disappears. Regulus's hand closes convulsively over the locket stored safely in the pocket of his robes, the metal as cold as the brother who's just departed. In a few hours it will all be over.

Sirius will never know.


End file.
